


brace for impact

by carrythesky



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:00:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6992530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/pseuds/carrythesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clairedevil drabbles. Lots of angst, mild fluff, unresolved emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or maybe this is how it begins: two souls on the brink of collision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still extremely salty that Clairedevil didn't work out in S1, so instead of moving on like a healthy person, I'm going to wallow in angst. :) Thanks for reading!

This is how it begins:

 

Palms pressed to her back, fingers tracing her shoulders like her skin is a book he’s reading for the first time, a voice saying things she doesn’t fully comprehend, things that shouldn’t be possible - _I can taste the copper in the air, I can hear your bones shift when you breathe_ \- and when she asks him what he sees behind those empty eyes, he hesitates before responding.

 

_(A world on fire)._

 

He describes it as an impressionistic painting, and in the seconds before he kisses her, she thinks she understands what he means. Fragments of sensation ripple through her - her heartbeat pounding out a rapid staccato in her chest, blood beading from the cut on her lip, gooseflesh prickling over her arms as she shivers from something that is entirely unrelated to the temperature of the room.

 

He leans in. _This asshole is smooth_ , is her last thought before their lips touch.

 

—–

 

Or maybe this is how it begins: two souls on the brink of collision. She saved his life the night she dragged him out of that dumpster, but she never thought the universe would be keeping score, holding its breath until he could return the favor. She wonders if this is the way things are now, their lives tethered together, blurring at the edges until the line separating them has dissolved completely. This thought doesn’t scare her as much as it probably should.

 

—–

 

This is what scares her:

 

A man in black, already halfway up the steps and pulling the mask over his face.

 

“What are you going to do?” she asks. She’s stalling - they both know what his answer is going to be. Her heart falls even before he says the words.

 

“Whatever it takes.”

 

“Look,” she says, stepping towards him. “What you do is important, to so many people. I get that.” She folds her arms across her chest, drops her gaze to the floor. “I just don’t think I can let myself fall in love with someone who’s so damn close to becoming what he hates.”

 

—–

 

When two objects collide, they ricochet off each other in opposite directions.

 

This is how it ends:

 

“You’re right,” he says. “You shouldn’t.”


	2. consider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "If you love it so much, then why don't you marry it?"

“Question,” she says as she struggles to guide him towards her sofa. “Is there a vigilante class where they sit you down and teach you how to show up on people’s doorsteps in the middle of the night?” One of his arms is draped across her shoulders, and she notes how the other is curled against his chest as he lurches his away across her apartment. _Favoring the right arm_ , she thinks, brain kicking into action as she attempts to deduce the cause of his injuries. _Dislocation, fracture, torn ligament -_

 

“Sorry to disappoint, but we’re just naturally like this,” he grunts as she lowers him onto the sofa, hissing as the movement jostles his right hand. “Broken wrist,” he gasps.  

 

“Doing my job for me, now?” she says, inspecting the rest of his body. His shirt has been flayed to rags, exposing the numerous wounds that cover his torso. There’s only one gash along his obliques that looks like it requires immediate attention; she stands, crossing the room towards the kitchen. “I know it’s been awhile since your last visit, Matt, but I’m a little offended.”

 

A huff of laughter escapes his lips as she rummages beneath the sink for her medical supplies. “So, you’re saying you missed me.”

  

“Hmm.” She returns to his side, pulling a pair of gloves over her hands and pressing a strip of gauze to his torso wound. Red blooms against the white cloth.  “Don’t push your luck, Murdock. I still have to stitch this mess up.  And set your wrist.” She opens her mouth, hesitates before saying, “I guess it would be pointless for me to tell you to ease up?”

 

His eyes flutter shut.  “You know I can’t.”

 

She sighs, pressing the gauze more firmly against his side. “I’m from New York, you know.  Born and raised.  When I was younger, I used to go up to the roof at sunset and look at the skyline.”  She smiles as the bittersweet memories tug at her.  “We didn’t have a lot of money, and our apartment was a shithole, but when I looked out at the city…all of that just faded away.”  Keeping one hand on the gauze, she digs through her supplies for her needle and thread. “Anyways, my sister loved to tease me about it.  I remember she used to say, ‘Claire, if you love New York so much, then why don’t you marry it?’”  

 

His eyes remain closed, but his lips twist into a half-smile.  “I didn’t know you have a sister.”

 

She flicks him lightly on the shoulder, biting back a grin of her own.  “Don’t interrupt me.  I’m being profound, here.”  

 

His smile widens, but he stays quiet. Despite the amount of pain she knows he must be feeling, his face is calm, chest rising and falling with the steady of rhythm of someone sleeping peacefully. She traces his features with her eyes, remembering the faint scratch of his stubble against her skin, the softness of his lips pressed to hers. Her chest tightens, and she wonders how it’s possible to miss someone when they’re right in front of you.    

 

“You love this city, Matt,” she says softly. “More than anyone I’ve met.  You love this city so much, you’re willing to die for it.”       

 

His eyes flicker open, and he turns his face towards her. “I know you think I have a death wish, Claire,” he says. “But I don’t. I know, each night…it might be my last.  And it scares me.  But I have a responsibility, to this city.  To its people.”  He reaches out with his uninjured hand, touches his fingertips to her cheek.

 

“We’ve been here before, Matt,” she says, pulse pounding in her ears.   _Damn. Guy’s broken and bleeding on my couch, and he’s still smoother than half the assholes I go out with._

 

“I know,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.  “I just…” he winces as she lifts the gauze, twisting away from her slightly.

 

“Sorry,” she says. “Just checking the bleeding. Looks like we can get you stitched up.” She dabs at the laceration with antiseptic, eliciting another hiss from him. “This is gonna hurt.  You ready?”

 

He nods, and she pokes the needle through his skin. “I guess what I’m trying to say,” he grunts as she continues threading, “is that I could come by sometime. During the day. When I’m not bleeding.”

 

She can’t help it; her lips pull up at the corners. “Are you asking me out, Murdock?”

 

“I’m saying I could come by.”

 

Laughter bubbles up her throat, spills out of her. “Alright, Romeo.  First things first. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m in the middle of stitching up your gaping torso wound.”

 

He inclines his head towards her, staring past her with empty eyes, and she wonders what his impressionistic painting looks like tonight.  How had he described it?   _A world on fire._  She pulls at the thread with her tweezers, willing her fluttering heartbeat to settle.

 

“Is that a ‘yes’, then?” he asks.  “Or at least an, ‘I’ll consider it’?”  

 

Her thumb brushes against his torso.  

 

“I’ll consider it,” she says.


End file.
